The Robe of Obedience

He throws his robe of obedience.
"Wear it, woman," he says.

I am not naked; I am already dressed.
I don’t need your robe to be addressed.

"I’ll make you a queen," he promises.
"I want you to be a pearl in a shell.
And just like I hide my jewels,
I want to hide you from thieves."

I don’t want to be a jewel
If that means I remain unseen.
I don’t want to be a pearl
If that means I will never roll across a collarbone.
I don’t want to be a queen
If I am locked away in a tower.
I don’t want to sit on a throne
Built from thorns and chains.

I want to be a singing farmer
Who owns her land.
I want to be a teacher
Inspiring young women
To escape your beds and jails.
I want to be a liberal brochure
Distributed in secret
Against the old thinking.

Don’t call me ungrateful.
I was not born from your rib
But from my mother’s womb.

Every human being
Has lived in a woman’s womb.
Fed from her,
Kicked the belly of hers,
And then entered the world—
Only to suppress her.

So tell me, who is the ungrateful one now?

Don’t accuse me of disloyalty to my teachings.
My teachings did not crown you a god to be obeyed.
My teachings say we stand equal under the same sky.
I am a citizen of this world.
No one has washed my brain
Or fed me words to utter in your presence.

It is you whose brain is made of mud,
Not of thoughts.

Your injustice casts a shadow over our lives,
But shadows disappear when the sun rises.
So leave—oh, you shadow of fear and despise.

Leave us be.

We will sit on the porches of our homes,
Braiding the hair of our daughters,
Chanting poems of freedom and joy.

Leave.
Go away.
Do not return.

We will raise men
Who respect the womb of a woman,
The first temple where we worshiped God.